It was just feeling as though every axiom of your life turned out to be false. And there was nothing, and you were nothing – it was all a delusion. But you were better than everyone else because you saw that it was a delusion, and yet you were worse because you couldn’t function.

-David Foster Wallace interviewing on why he dropped out of Harvard.

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My brain is in the incipient stages of being able to process things again. If my yearly patterns of seasonal affective go-fuck-yourself disorder play out as normal, I’ll be interested in talking about stuff and things on a regular basis by April.

Hello blog. How are you? Neglected? Yeah…

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Quick Dirty Jerz politics update:

Senator Lautenberg, who is quite possibly the most lucid relic of the Great Depression, has finally announced at the age of 89 that he’s going to retire. Mayor of Newark Cory Booker, who is actually a superhero, should slide right into the warm seat in 2014.

He probably won’t be ready for a Presidential bid by 2016, but how feisty would be a Booker/Christie debate be?

I realized I completely passed over WTF Wednesday. I think I browsed over some weird news but didn’t find much worth posting. The news has been boring lately; everyone already knows Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan are terrible people.

Anyway, I’m in the middle of reading, “Every Love Story is a Ghost Story, A Life of David Foster Wallace” by D.T. Max. It’s mostly like reading every biographical piece on Wallace already written, except in a simple consistent style. I’m not all that impressed by it.

Another reviewer on Amazon nailed it.

Soren Safrano:

The most annoying bit is its Ellmann approach to biographies, i.e., the mining of an author’s fiction and connecting its details (often forcefully) to the author’s life. Which Wallace cautions us against in his review of a Borges biography. Good approach or not, it’s sad to see something Wallace convincingly argued against applied to him (99% of the Shakespeare authorship controversy come from readers who think the Plays are autobiographical). Indeed, as a Wallace reader, it’s difficult to suppress the sense that this book is reductive. And doubtless, Wallace would have thought so too.

Note to self: Read more Borges. And then read Wallace’s review of the biography of Borges.